Settlement
by Celandine Brandybuck
Summary: Thirty years after the war, Draco meets with Harry to settle their mutual life debts. Slash. SPOILERS for Deathly Hallows.
1. Settlement

**Settlement**

It could be argued that the whole of the wizarding world owed Harry Potter a life debt, but for some people, the debt was a little more personal. Which was why Draco Malfoy was sitting at this table at lunchtime on a Thursday, his third glass of wine half-drunk before him; because, in fact, they each owed the other, and it was time to settle up.

He wondered what means Harry had chosen.

Draco had known that they shared a mutual obsession since at least their sixth year at Hogwarts. Not love, never, but something. When Harry had saved him in the Room of Requirement, he'd flown with his arms around the other boy, and felt his own heart beat faster to match the pulse beneath his fingers.

He'd put it away, that feeling. It could only be a distraction, something to disturb the life he so desperately wanted to return to after Voldemort's death. Under Minister Shacklebolt his family hadn't suffered retaliation. Narcissa and Draco's actions were considered instrumental in saving Harry, and the family was granted amnesty, but it was plain that the days when Malfoy was a name to be reckoned with were over.

So Draco had reluctantly returned to Hogwarts for one more year, sat his N.E.W.T.s, taken up a minor position at the Ministry – all the things expected of him. His father chose his son's name, Scorpius; Draco didn't care for it, but he couldn't be bothered to object.

Wizarding life went on around him and as the years passed, Draco registered less and less of it.

Then he received the message from Harry, reminding him of debts owed.

It had been impossible not to know something of Harry's life, though Harry had done his best to shun the spotlight. He even chose an ordinary career – apprenticed to old Ollivander, he'd eventually taken over the wand-maker's shop, though he'd kept the name.

Draco had seen him, from time to time, but they had spoken as little as possible while remaining civil. In the back of his mind, though, Draco never forgot the pounding of Harry's heart.

"Malfoy." Harry's voice jerked him from his reverie.

"Potter." Draco regretted that. "Harry."

Harry's eyebrows went up as he lowered himself to the chair opposite. "Draco, then."

"A debt like this is a bond," Draco reminded him. "Whether either of us wants it or not. I assume you don't or you wouldn't have owled me last week."

"Mm." Harry didn't answer immediately. He raised his hand and ordered – "Another bottle of whatever he's having," he told the man, indicating Draco's glass – and didn't speak again until it had arrived and he'd taken a swallow.

Draco waited in equal silence. Curious though he was as to why Harry had waited this long to settle the debt, he refused to ask.

When Harry finally spoke, it was nothing that Draco expected.

"Why did you marry Daphne?"

"What?" Draco almost dropped his wineglass.

"Why did you marry Daphne?" Harry repeated.

"That's an... odd question," said Draco, trying to gather his wits together. "What does that have to do with my owing you a life debt, and vice versa?"

Harry just shook his head. "I want to know."

"Mother arranged it, and I had nothing better to propose."

"But I hear that you're living apart now?"

Draco squinted at him. "Yes. Since Scorpius married Rosie Weasley."

"I can't imagine your father was too happy about that." Harry gave a short, barking laugh.

"Not especially," said Draco calmly, "but there wasn't much he could do. Daphne and I were agreed that our son should be free to marry someone he loved."

"As you weren't."

"That's right." Draco had dropped his gaze, watching his thumb draw invisible patterns on the table. He didn't want to see the pity in Harry's eyes.

"Marrying for love... isn't always the best course of action either." Harry's voice was quiet.

"It seems to have worked for you."

"Only up to a point."

At that, Draco looked up at Harry again, whose face was pale and set. "What do you mean?"

"I love Ginny. I have to be clear about that. But..."

"But?"

Harry poured himself another glass of wine, drank half of it in a single gulp, and coughed. "The life debts. All those people I saved, and who saved me, too," he said.

Draco didn't understand the connection. "What about them? I owe you one, and you owe me, too. That's why we're here tonight. Unlike in finance, mutual debts don't cancel out. What does any of that have to do with the fact that you love your wife?" He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I've done some looking into how to settle those debts. It can be done by a simple Relinquishment Spell, if both people agree... but there are certain conditions that have to be met." Harry didn't seem to want to meet Draco's eyes; in his throat Draco could see his pulse jumping.

"Such as? And what conditions?" asked Draco, a little impatiently. He wasn't here to play games. If Harry was looking to square accounts, for whatever reason, he wanted to do so and be done with it; he wanted not to have to remember the past any longer, to return to the comfortable numbness that was his life.

Harry shifted the conversational ground again, though. "Do you remember what happened during the war?"

"I remember a lot of things during the war. We saved each other's lives at Hogwarts, that's why we're here now."

"No, earlier than that. When I was captured, and your father asked you to identify me so they'd know whether they ought to summon Voldemort."

"Yes."

"Why did you say you didn't know it was me? You agreed that it was probably Hermione and Ron, and I know I looked unlike myself because I'd been jinxed, but you must have known. I've always wondered... I should have asked when I returned your wand after the war. I don't know why I didn't."

Draco felt the blood rushing to his face, and sipped at his wine to cover it. "I... I don't know."

"I don't believe you." Harry's words were quiet. "Most of the time you were a bit of a coward – you were, don't bother to quibble – but there were moments when you took risks, and that was one of them. So why?"

The scene came back to him as if it were yesterday, not thirty – Merlin, was it thirty? – years ago. Harry's face, distorted and desperate. His father demanding that he come close and look. The rapid pounding of his heart as he lied, turning quickly away.

Did it matter now if he told the truth?

"I couldn't be responsible for your death. I didn't want anyone to die... but especially not you."

"Not after I'd used _Sectumsempra_ on you?"

"No." The memory slipped, turned into the fire in the Room of Requirement, himself holding Goyle, waving desperately; his not-quite-astonishment that Harry came back for him. He'd been terrified, unable to stop his own screams, appalled that Crabbe had used uncontrolled fiendfyre. For the rest of the battle he'd been in shock, hardly knowing what he was doing. "I still have scars from that, though."

"You do?" Harry looked startled.

"Yes. Faint though." Draco shrugged. He didn't want to say that he ran his fingers along the scars, sometimes, thinking of Harry.

"Oh. I'm sorry," said Harry, regret plain in his voice.

"You have worse ones, I think." Draco's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead.

"We all have them in some way."

They were quiet for a bit, then, before Draco said, "You've been asking me a lot of questions. What does this have to do with settling our debts?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. There's the Relinquishment Spell, but it's not the best choice if there are unresolved strong emotions present between the two parties involved. And, well, I had to ask because if you had those too, then I needed to know."

Draco took a second to process that. "Too," Harry had said. "So what's the alternative then?"

"Um. It depends on exactly what type of emotion it is." Harry swallowed. "In my case it's not exactly hate."

"Not in mine, either."

"As I said, I love my wife." Harry's words came in a rush, now. "But sometimes that's not enough. She knows, I've told her, and she's not exactly happy about it but willing to let me do this."

It sounded as if Harry were asking Draco to be his bit on the side... but surely Draco was misunderstanding. He just looked at Harry, waiting.

"I've never forgotten the way you held onto me," Harry went on. "Practically throttled me. But I've never felt more alive than I did then. I need to feel alive again."

No. Not after all these years of resigning himself. He wouldn't, he couldn't bear to... Harry was still talking.

"Just a kiss. That's all. If a kiss resolves the emotions, then we're squared and the Relinquishment Spell will work and we won't ever have to go through this again. Do you agree?"

"There's no alternative, is there?"

"Not unless you want to risk dying, still owing a life debt."

Of course he didn't. "One kiss, then. Not here."

"No." Harry finished his wine, leaving the rest of the bottle untouched, and tossed a couple of Galleons on the table. "I'll Apparate us, if you trust me."

Trees rose up around them as Draco gasped from the usual pressure of Apparition. "Where are we?"

"Forest of Dean. One of the places I hid that year. Cold, frightened... not a great time. At least Hermione was with me, and Ron for most of it."

Draco nodded. The only good thing about his own experience that year – and neither of them had to say which year they meant, he noticed – was that his parents were there too.

"We came here because it's private, and I figured you'd be disinclined to do something straightforward like get a room." Harry smiled wryly. "I admit I wouldn't be keen on the chance of publicity myself. Besides, waste of money for one kiss."

The filtered sunlight caught on the glasses he still wore as he lifted his hands to Draco's face, brought their lips together.

If this was supposed to resolve their emotions, Draco thought hazily after a few minutes, it hadn't quite worked for him... and didn't seem to be doing any better for Harry, who was trembling against him.

"That may have been a miscalculation," said Harry.

"Possibly." Regret rose like bile in Draco's throat.

"I'm... going to have to think about this." Harry sounded lost, confused.

"Yes." Draco didn't need to think, really; everything he'd denied for decades had come crashing home. He almost hated Harry at that moment for making him feel again. "Yes, you do that." There was no question of performing the Relinquishment Spell now and they both knew it. "You know where to owl me. I have to get back to work, I'm hours late already."

"Draco."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll be in touch."

Back in his office for a shortened afternoon, Draco buried his face in his hands for a few moments. Then he raised his head, forcing himself to breathe calmly, and lifted the next piece of parchment from the stack that waited.


	2. Choices

**Choices**

When no owl had arrived from Harry within the next month, Draco couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed. Their mutual life debt would have to be settled sometime, of course, but there no real rush; neither of them was even fifty years old yet. There was plenty of time. And if they waited long enough, perhaps that lingering emotion between them would simply disappear of its own accord. Draco ignored the fact that thirty years seemed to have made very little difference.

The incident had, however, made him begin to rethink his life just a little bit. After half a year in his near-monastic little flat, Draco began to add a few touches that made it seem like it was his. Daphne came over one evening and complimented him on it, saying that he looked happier than he had done in a long time.

"Are you seeing someone?" she asked, one eyebrow raised as she leaned back elegantly.

Shaking his head, Draco said," No. No, there isn't anyone. What about you?"

Daphne smiled. "There are one or two possibilities on the horizon, but I'm in no hurry."

"Sensible of you," said Draco, "but then you always were, weren't you?" He took her hand and they sat companionably, talking about Scorpius and Rosie, and whether Draco's father was likely to get over his pique at that marriage if there were a great-grandchild.

"I hope they don't have one right away," said Daphne.

"Why not?"

"There's no rush, and I think that they'll both be happier if they allow themselves time to get used to each other first."

"I trust them to make the right decision," said Draco. "Between us we raised a good son." It might not have been his first choice for his life, but he found it hard to regret that it had happened.

Daphne rose and brushed a swift kiss over his temple. "See you in a few weeks."

After she had gone, Draco reflected on their conversation. Daphne had always known that he preferred men, but she hadn't seemed surprised when he said that there was presently no one new in his life. He wasn't old, scarcely even middle-aged by wizarding standards, and not unattractive, he knew. Most other wizards in his position would already be seeing someone, so why had Daphne been unsurprised that he was not?

Peering into the mirror as he cleaned his teeth, Harry's words crept into his memory. "Most of the time you were a bit of a coward."

It was true. Nearly always he had taken the easy way out, done what was expected of him, tried not to think about what he wanted. But now... his son was grown and gone, Daphne and he had agreed to lead separate lives, and for nearly the first time he had taken a stand against his father, on Scorpius' behalf. Perhaps it was time not to be afraid anymore, but to take a risk for his own happiness.

The next evening, after work, he wrote a letter to Harry.

* * *

"Hello."

They were in a different restaurant this time, and Draco hadn't arrived half an hour early. In fact he was several minutes late, and Harry was already at the table.

"I ordered a bottle of wine; I hope that's all right?"

"Yes, thanks."

Once they had each ordered, and they'd done the requisite round of polite inquiries into each other's health, Harry asked, "What was it you wanted to talk about?" Then he flushed, the scar on his forehead standing out against the reddened skin. "I mean, I suppose it's about the life debt, and what happened last time, but..." he trailed off.

"I was curious," said Draco, "whether you had had difficulty in using the Relinquishment Spell with anyone else."

He saw Harry swallow. "Not like with you."

"I think we should talk about it." Draco said the words with a certain reluctance. There was no question that he was attracted to Harry, but it was one thing to have that sort of physical reaction, and something else again to sit here as if they were friends. They had never been friends.

"I suppose so." Harry sounded reserved, as if he were thinking very much the same thing.

Their meal arrived, and they ate for a few minutes before Draco spoke again.

"Have you ever felt like this about another man before?"

A shake of the head, and then Harry said, "Not in any serious way. Not since I was at school." He blinked rapidly.

Draco sighed to himself. Of course not. Poster-boy Potter... he couldn't have allowed himself to. "I suppose I'm one up on you, then. I've known that I was gay since I can remember."

Harry was looking at him oddly. "But you married Daphne."

Draco gave a short laugh. "I didn't have a lot of of options. She knew, mind you, I told her before we were married, and we came to an agreement." He shrugged. "Pureblood marriage traditions have always needed to be somewhat flexible."

"Did you...?" Harry shook his head. "Never mind. It's none of my business."

"If you're asking whether we were faithful," Draco pronounced the last word with a certain scorn, "you're right, it _isn't_ any of your business." He shrugged. "Daphne and I were friends, and raising our son was important to both of us. We wanted him to be secure in his family."

"I understand," said Harry softly. "Family has always been important to me, too." He pushed his glasses up his nose, settling them more comfortably. Behind the lenses his eyes looked tired, and Draco could see the threads of silver in his hair.

Remembering Harry's insistence on how much he loved his wife, the last time they'd spoken, Draco hesitated a moment before continuing. "If you've never felt anything for another man -- school-age fantasies aside -- then I don't know how you'll feel about this suggestion."

"I survived my own death, in a manner of speaking, when I fought Voldemort," said Harry in a dry tone. "Even if your suggestion is what I think it might be, I can probably hear you out without _too_ much difficulty."

"I have two possibilities in mind, actually. Which might be the better option depends on whether the physical expression of your emotions is acceptable to you."

"What are the options you're thinking of?"

"Obviously one possibility is that we could have sex," said Draco, keeping his voice low. "That might be enough to get it out of your system, or mine. The other possibility is that we could try to become friends. If what's preventing the Relinquishment Spell from working is a strong unresolved emotion, then reaching a resolution through friendship ought to work. You said that you had no difficulty with other people on this?"

"That's right. There aren't very many where the debt is _mutual_, of course, but I don't think that makes a difference. A life debt is a life debt."

"Well then. Friendship could solve the problem."

"Friendship." Harry said the word as if he were tasting it. "No offense, Draco, but what do we have in common that might make a real friendship feasible?"

"We'd have to find out, wouldn't we? But it seems like it's a reasonable option... unless you didn't _want_ an option," he added with a flash of understanding. "If the only possible resolution is sex, then you can justify it, can't you? You don't want to take a chance of dying still in my debt, so you could use this necessity as an excuse to your wife."

Harry didn't answer.

"If you want to tell her that, you can." Draco gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It doesn't matter to me, and I certainly wouldn't tell her anything otherwise." He wouldn't object if Harry chose to do it that way, either. What did they have in common, really? But the longer he looked at Harry, the more clearly he remembered their kiss, and how it had made him aware again, after all those years feeling as if his emotions were wrapped in cotton wool. It had been more than something physical.

He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket, overriding Harry's attempt to insist on paying for both meals.

"Look. We both have an interest in settling this, and it's always best to do such things sooner rather than later. Think about what I've said." Draco held out his hand, repressing the shiver that went through him as Harry shook it. "The next move is up to you."

* * *

Once again, Draco waited to see if Harry would owl him. The days ticked past and he wondered whether Harry was weighing his options. On the one hand, he could sleep with Draco -- sex was likely to resolve their emotions sufficiently to make the Relinquishment Spell work. But Harry apparently had qualms of conscience about that; a kiss might be acceptable, but nothing more. On the other hand, trying to establish a friendship was unlikely to be easy. They had not only the mutual animosity of their school years to overcome, but an almost total lack of interaction since.

It was nearly a fortnight before a message arrived, asking if Harry might stop by Draco's flat on Tuesday evening, at eight o'clock. Draco replied in the affirmative, giving Harry his Floo address.

"I've always hated the Floo Network," were Harry's first words as he stumbled out of the fireplace. "I suppose if you grew up taking it, it's better."

"Not really. I've never cared for it myself." Draco had been sitting in his favorite chair, waiting. He gestured at the other seats. "Sit down. Would you like a drink?"

Harry chose the end of the sofa nearest Draco. "No... well, actually, yes, that would be nice. Whatever you're having."

"_Accio_." Draco Summoned a tumbler and the bottle of firewhisky, poured, and sent the glass over to Harry. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Harry lifted his glass in return, sipped, and coughed. "Right. Er. I've been thinking about things."

"So I supposed, or you wouldn't have owled me. What brilliant conclusions have you reached, then?"

Shaking his head, Harry gave a wry chuckle. "You know, that's exactly the sort of comment that kept me uninterested in trying to be friends with you."

"It's meant to be a _joke_."

"Yes, I know. Still." He took another sip of the firewhisky. "This is very good."

"Thank you. What has your thinking resulted in, then?"

"Can I be honest?"

"Of course."

"I'd like to sleep with you... but I don't think I should." Draco saw him take a deep breath. "It might resolve those feelings enough to settle the life debt, but I'm afraid it would make other things more complicated than I can handle."

Draco waited. When it seemed plain that Harry had nothing more to add at the moment, he said, "So then you want to try the second option I suggested... friendship. Even though you dislike my style of humor."

"It seems the better choice... for now."

Which, of course, left open the possibility that Harry might change his mind in future. Since the kind of shagging Draco would like to have with Harry required the latter's willing participation -- rape held no charms for Draco -- he nodded. "Agreed."

"Shall we shake on it?" Harry's lips curved in a half-grin. "Since I once refused to shake your hand, that seems appropriate."

"Done." Draco leaned forward, extending his hand. The same jolt went through him as he had felt the last two times they had touched. Harry apparently felt it too.

"The right decision, I think," he murmured.

"For now," Draco amended.


	3. Friends

**Friends**

Tuesday evening was a good time to go to Diagon Alley. Most of the shops stayed open until six, but because it was a weeknight there were generally fewer people there than – for instance – on a Saturday. A fitting at Madam Malkin's might take longer than an hour, but Tuesday after work was the perfect time for Draco to collect his newly-finished set of robes.

Package shrunken and tucked in a pocket, he was strolling back along the street a few minutes after six when he saw that the lights were still on at Ollivander's. The shop might have changed hands, but tradition prevailed and the name had remained the same as ever. On an impulse he went in.

"Sorry, we're clo–" Harry looked up from behind the counter. "Oh. I don't suppose you're here for a new wand."

Draco quelled the suggestive remark that first came to mind and shook his head. "Happy with my old one."

"Ten inches, hawthorn and unicorn hair, right?" Harry's mouth quirked. "I'm not as good at remembering wands as Mister Ollivander was, but I _used_ yours, after all."

"That's right, you did. Thirty years, though, I'm surprised."

"Yeah, well, it's funny what lingers in the memory," said Harry quietly. "So since you're not looking to buy a wand, what _are_ you here for?"

"I just thought I'd say hello. That's what friends do, right?" Draco cocked his head. "I might have asked if you'd like to grab a pint at the Leaky, but I imagine you're in a rush to get home."

"Actually I'm not." Harry took a stack of boxes from the counter and began replacing them on the shelves. "Ginny goes 'out with the girls' on Tuesdays – Hermione and Luna and I don't know who all, I think it changes. I'm in no hurry to go home to an empty house and a plate of leftovers."

"I see. _Would_ you like to stop for a drink?"

"I... don't think so." Before Draco could respond, Harry continued, "The times we've met about the life debt – we've been drinking each time, quite a lot. If we're going to try to become friends I'd like to do it without the alcohol. If that's okay with you?"

Draco gaped for an instant, then closed his mouth hard. It wasn't _necessary_ to go out drinking, even if that had been what he'd rather expected he and Harry might do as friends – it wasn't as if they had much in common, and a glass or two tended to ease conversation. But if that's what Harry wanted...

"Sure." Draco shrugged. "We could walk, maybe have dinner somewhere?" He gave Harry a small grin. "Save you from your leftovers."

"Oh, they're _good_, it's just... not very interesting to eat them alone." Harry pushed the till closed. "Let me take the money back to the safe and I'll be right with you."

Draco waited, looking around at the shelves and shelves of boxes, each with its unique wand. He remembered his awe and excitement when his father had brought him here, and how he'd seen the same reaction in his own son. It was good that Harry was carrying on the custom.

"How did you decide to go into wand-making?" he asked as Harry locked the shop door behind them. "I'd have expected you to become an Auror or a cursebreaker or something like that. Or maybe a professional Quidditch player."

"I didn't want any job with that kind of publicity," said Harry shortly. "Look, where do you want to walk? There are some pleasant Muggle parks... have you ever been to Kensington Gardens? There's a safe Apparition point not far away from there. Your robes are close enough to Muggle business clothes that no one will notice."

"That's fine. You'll have to take me by Side-Along, though, as I don't know it." Draco braced himself.

"Right. Hang on, then." Harry put an arm around Draco's back; Draco could feel him taking a deep breath. "Now."

The disorientation of Apparition was almost welcome as a distraction from Harry's touch. As soon as they arrived, Draco stepped away from him, willing himself to ignore the heat and spark that seemed to have sensitized every inch of skin.

"Follow me," Harry said, and led Draco along the street to the park.

It was lovely in the summer evening, Draco admitted, although there were more people than he quite liked. Still, the chance of any of them knowing or recognizing either himself or Harry seemed slim. Presumably they were all or nearly all Muggles.

"After we rescued Mister Ollivander," said Harry, picking up on the question Draco had asked back at the shop, "I talked with him a bit about wand lore. I'd had to use several wands that weren't my own during that year... well, you know that." He glanced sideways at Draco, who remembered very well indeed both when Harry had taken his wand, and when he had returned it after Voldemort's defeat.

"It was... well, it just interested me." Harry shrugged. "And it seemed like a nice quiet sort of occupation. Not a lot of danger in wand-making, and I'd had more of _that_ than I ever hoped to have again."

Draco had flushed a little at the mention of Ollivander's rescue from Malfoy Manor, and was glad that Harry didn't harp on it.

"Have you enjoyed making wands as much as you expected?" he asked.

Harry thought about it as they continued strolling, shoving his spectacles up his nose. "On the whole, yes. There's quite a bit of satisfaction in matching each witch or wizard to the best wand for them. It's unpredictable, what will suit. And it's challenging. Ollivander preferred a very limited range of magical cores – Veela hair, for one – although he used a broader group of woods. I've done some experimenting with different cores, and used some exotic woods on occasion too."

"It sounds interesting." Draco meant that. Compared to a safe and dull desk job at the Ministry, Harry's choice of career sounded positively fascinating.

"Yeah, I've had the chance to do some traveling, search out suppliers, that sort of thing. So. You're at the Ministry, right, in Law Enforcement? Hermione's mentioned you once in a while."

"I'm just a parchment-pusher." Draco dismissed the question. "Really. Nothing important, nothing that has any impact."

"Is that what _you_ wanted?" asked Harry, steering them onto a fork in the path. "I can see why you might not have gone for something high-profile when you began, mind."

"At first, yes, it was a _safe_ option," Draco said with a hint of bitterness. "I didn't have a lot of choices. And then... I suppose I never had the drive to try to change. Maybe I didn't want to take the risk. It's respectable, uncontroversial – qualities that I needed, that the Malfoy name needed to be associated with, regardless of whether or not I personally enjoyed the job." He considered. "I don't _dislike_ it, but to be honest I'm a glorified file clerk, and by now it's rather late to make a change, you know? I'll just drift along for a few more decades until I retire."

He realized that he had kept walking, while Harry had stopped a few yards back. He turned. Harry was looking at him with a peculiar expression, which he wiped from his face almost before Draco could register it. It hadn't been pity, not quite, nor even sympathy.

"What?" The word came out with more of a snap than Draco intended.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly, and moved to catch up. He glanced at his wristwatch. "Do you want to keep walking for a bit, or grab something to eat?"

"Doesn't matter. Whatever you want."

Harry looked around. "I'm not too familiar with this area when it comes to restaurants, I have to admit. Other than the café by the playground – that has sandwiches and salads and simple things like that. Ginny and I used to bring the kids sometimes, a few years ago now. We could go somewhere else... I know a little place that grills a nice steak. Argentine beef, and they have a decent wine list... I won't mind a glass if we're eating, too."

"Fine," Draco agreed, and they talked about the safe topic of British versus imported meat until they had left the park and reached a spot from which they could Apparate discreetly.

Once again Harry took Draco by Side-Along, although it wasn't strictly necessary. Draco tried not to show his reaction. His pulse beat faster, though, and he was sure his face was flushed.

"There it is – Pampas." Harry pointed ahead at a set of deep blue awnings.

Both food and wine were as good as Harry had intimated they would be, and Draco relaxed. The conversation jumped from food to foreign travel to sport – they both took care, in this Muggle restaurant, not to say "Quidditch" too loudly – and by the time that Draco had eaten his last bite of _papas fritas_, he wasn't at all expecting Harry to reach across the table and take his hand.

Draco froze. Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's, evidently not noticing that Draco made no move to cooperate. Warmth shot through Draco's arm, into his belly... he tried to ignore the fact that he was becoming aroused by such a simple touch. He wasn't a teenager any more; this was ridiculous. At least sitting at the table no one else could tell, especially not Harry. Unless he was reacting too, but Draco saw no sign of it.

"Thanks for stopping by the shop tonight." Harry looked very earnest, despite lines that crinkled around his eyes as he smiled. "I've had a good time."

"So have I," Draco managed to say.

"Maybe we could do it again? As I said, Ginny goes out with her friends on Tuesdays... if you want to, if it's a day that's all right for you," Harry added hastily. "I wouldn't want to presume on your schedule."

"Tuesdays would be fine." Harry was still holding his hand; Draco forced himself to return the pressure of Harry's fingers before he let go, afraid he'd do something foolish otherwise. "That's a good idea."

Harry gave Draco a smile that called to mind the triumphant young Seeker of so many years past, who had just caught the Snitch and won the game for his House. "They make a gloriously decadent chocolate confection here. I think this calls for one of those to celebrate. Don't you?"

"Celebrate... what exactly?" asked Draco cautiously.

"Being friends now." The words were simple, even if Draco thought he saw something more flicker in Harry's eyes.

"Something worth celebrating, to be friends," Draco agreed.

When they'd finished and paid and were walking back along the street – Draco had to Apparate, although Harry lived close enough to walk home – Harry said, "Same time next week?"

"Shall I meet you at your shop again?"

"Yes. I close at six, and you finish earlier at the Ministry, right? So that seems best."

They did meet the next week, and the one after, and the one following that... and on into months, until it was simply a regular part of Draco's life, to spend Tuesday evenings with Harry, walking and talking and having dinner, sometimes even going to see a play or a musical performance together.

Draco never quite got used to Harry's touching him, although Harry did it quite a lot. For a while Draco wondered if Harry was _trying_ to get him to react, if it was some kind of test of Draco's emotions – but then one day Harry's son Albus happened to be in the shop when Draco arrived, and Harry hugged him several times. Draco decided that Harry was just a tactile person, and to be touched by him didn't mean anything special.

Over time they talked about all kinds of things. Their children – that was always a safe and endless topic. Quidditch, of course; Draco had supported the Magpies his whole life, whereas Harry backed the Cannons, apparently out of loyalty to Ron Weasley. As they grew to be better friends, they were even able to discuss subjects that they disagreed about, like some of the Ministry's laws regarding wizard-Muggle interactions, and Draco felt a carefully-hidden thrill when he convinced Harry to rethink his position on appropriate penalties for the ownership of contraband but not actually dangerous artifacts.

Friendship with Harry was better than Draco had ever imagined it could be. He told himself that if it wasn't enough for him, that was a private problem, and to accept what Harry offered without being a child begging for the unreachable moon.

After well over a year, however, he realized that Harry had never again brought up the prospect of settling the life debt. Draco knew that his own emotions remained unresolved, but he'd understood from Harry that as long as that wasn't mutual, then the Relinquishment Spell should work. And no wizard with any sense wanted to die with a life debt still owing. His stomach clenched, and he resolved that he would ask... next week. Or the week following. Soon, in any case, he promised himself. Soon.


	4. Resolve

**Resolve**

As he had on nearly every Tuesday night for more than eighteen months now, Draco stepped inside the door of Ollivanders a few minutes before six o'clock, waiting for Harry to finish with his last customer of the day and be ready to spend the evening together.

It was obvious that Harry loved his work. He never hurried a customer, never pressured anyone, but would search through every wand in the shop if need be to ensure that he found one suitable to its new owner. The big rush of wand purchases, of course, was in late summer, when the new students were heading off to Hogwarts for the first time. But there was a steady trickle of business throughout the year: accidents happened, wands broke or were lost. Today Harry was helping an elderly witch who peered up at him with suspicious eyes.

"I'll have you know, young man, that I had my last wand for eighty-two years, and it always served me well. Hazel and unicorn hair. Why don't you find me a nice new wand of the same sort?"

"Because," Harry explained patiently, for the third time since Draco had arrived and goodness only knew how many times before that, "You've already tried all of the hazel and unicorn hair wands that I have and none of them suited. Sometimes a person's magic changes. There's nothing wrong with that, it's a natural consequence of developing your ability throughout the years. Please try this holly and unicorn hair one instead."

It took another twenty minutes and a dozen more wands before at last Harry found one that responded properly to the witch's attempts to use it. He took her Galleons, wrapped the package, and bowed her out the door, turning to Draco with a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for waiting." Harry put his hand on Draco's elbow . "It will just take me a few minutes to lock up, and I'll..."

"... be right with you," Draco finished with him.

Harry smiled a bit ruefully. "You know me rather well, don't you?"

He did, Draco supposed. They might spend only one evening a week together, but most often they spent it talking, sharing all sorts of things. Harry had become his closest friend... certainly he talked more with Harry on that one night than he had done in an entire week with Daphne, most of the years of their marriage. But Harry had married his wife for love, not due to family pressure. He and Ginny probably communicated much better.

Lost in his thoughts, Draco was startled when Harry came back, saying, "I'm ready if you are. Where were we planning to go this evening?"

"I don't think we'd decided. We hadn't booked tickets for anything, and I didn't make any restaurant reservations, did you?"

Shaking his head, Harry put a casual arm around Draco's shoulders to lead him out the door. "Nope." He gazed up at the sky. "It's a nice evening. Want to take a walk?"

"Kensington Park?" Draco smiled at Harry. They both had a fondness for the park where they had walked the first night of their friendship, and often chose to return there.

"Of course."

The park was, as usual, crowded with Muggles, but Draco hardly noticed that anymore. He listened as Harry talked on about what he'd been telling the elderly lady in the shop; how a person's magical signature could change over time, or as a result of illness or injury, so that an old wand no longer worked as well as it once had. Even though Draco had no especial interest in the topic, Harry's enthusiasm was infectious.

In the middle of describing the comparative properties of mahogany, oak, and yew, Harry broke off abruptly and stared at Draco.

"What is it?"

"You're not really that keen on any of this, are you?"

Draco shrugged. "Not for its own sake, no, but that doesn't mean I don't like hearing you talk about it. Because it excites you," he stumbled over that phrase and hurried on, "and I like to know about what you like, what interests you. It makes you happy to talk about these ideas, and so I'm happy to listen."

"Let's sit down." Harry pointed at one of the few benches unoccupied by any young Muggles with radios plugged into their ears.

"Ginny doesn't listen much any more," he said when they were resting comfortably

Draco wasn't certain how to respond to that. They talked about nearly everything, true, but they never talked about Harry's relationship with his wife. Only occasionally did Harry mention her, such as when he and Ginny had gone to spend the holidays with the elder Weasleys, so that he wasn't able to have his weekly meeting with Draco.

"Oh?" Draco said cautiously at last.

"I suppose she's heard it all before." Harry looked down at his lap. "After a while, you know, you've pretty much said everything that you have to say; you've told all the stories, shared all the new ideas, and all that's left are the mundane everyday details."

"Do you think that's true in any relationship?" Draco reflected for a moment, then added, "I mean, I can't deny that Daphne and I ran out of things to say on a certain level, but we were in a somewhat different situation. As friends though, she and I always found plenty to talk about. Do you have the same problem with Ron, for instance, or Hermione, or any of your other old friends?"

"I've never really thought about it." Harry went quiet, and Draco waited.

"No," Harry said at last. "But then, I don't know if it's really fair to compare. I don't live with Hermione or Ron or anyone else; when you're married, there are so many more hours that you're together than is the case with even your closest friends. Perhaps running out of things to say to your spouse is inevitable." Harry sounded regretful but oddly resigned as well. "I'm glad that _we_ still enjoy talking with each other, at least."

Draco reached out and touched Harry's knee, and Harry startled. It was nearly always he, not Draco, who initiated any physical contact; not that Draco didn't enjoy it. Rather, he feared that he enjoyed it too much for either his own comfort or Harry's. There might never be a better opportunity than this for Draco to ask the question that had been plaguing him.

Without letting himself stop and think, lest he put it off once more, Draco said, "Why haven't you ever suggested that we could perform the Relinquishment Spell, Harry? It's not as if settling the life debt would prevent us from remaining friends."

Harry froze, his expression both shocked and guilty. "I couldn't," he said at last in a voice so quiet that Draco could hardly hear him. "It wouldn't have worked. I thought... I hoped... you would suggest it, sometime."

Draco shook his head. "I couldn't, either."

"I see." Harry shifted on the bench. His leg had been resting against Draco's; now he moved it away. "I _did_ believe that becoming friends would resolve matters," he said at a rush. "I don't want you to think that I suggested that under false pretenses, or anything."

"I didn't think you had," Draco said honestly. There was a flutter in his stomach. "What do you want to do about it? I mean, do you want to carry on as we've been doing, give things more time and see? Because I enjoy our friendship, but I can't say that I wouldn't like for it to be more."

"I don't know what I want to do. I'm sorry, I know that's a terrible answer. It's hard for me to think about leaving Ginny; she's been part of my life for over three quarters of it, one way or another. And there's the children even if they are grown now, and the whole extended family... it's something I value a great deal." He sighed and took off his glasses, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes.

"That's all right," murmured Draco. "I understand."

"Perhaps I shouldn't say this, but since we started see each other, every time that I kiss Ginny, I imagine that it's you." There was a desolate look in Harry's green eyes. "I've kept hoping that would change, that just being friends with you would be enough. But I've been weak, I guess. I taken every opportunity I had to touch you... I don't know if you noticed."

"Oh, I did." Draco kept himself from saying just how much Harry's touch had affected him.

"Yeah, well." Harry bowed his head. "I'm sorry about that."

"I thought that you were just the sort of person who liked physical contact in general," said Draco. "When I saw you with your son you hugged him a lot."

"But that was Albus," said Harry. "Being physically affectionate with my son is different from liking to touch people in general. There are really very few people that I feel comfortable doing that with: only my family, and a very few close friends, like Hermione and Ron. And you."

Draco reached over and took Harry's hand. After a few moments of silence, Draco said, "I'm not going to tell you what to do. I'm not even going to give you friendly advice because my motives would obviously be suspect. But much as I would like us to be more to each other than we are now, I have to tell you, I can't be anything but your friend unless your wife knows what's going on, or you're separated. Daphne and I were honest with each other. I wouldn't be able to trust you if you weren't honest with Ginny."

"That's fair." Harry squeezed Draco's fingers, and then let go.

The loss of that simple contact struck through Draco, but he stopped himself from protesting. Friends could hold hands, that was true, but in their circumstances, it wasn't a safe thing to do. Draco was certain that the more he touched Harry, the more he would want to, and he was determined to stick by what he had just said. If Harry were willing to cheat on his wife, he wouldn't be the person that Draco wanted to be with.

"Do you still want to have dinner tonight as usual?" Harry asked.

"Why not? I mean, we _do_ both have to eat tonight, and it's certainly more enjoyable to do so with you than all alone."

They left the topic alone during dinner, making light and meaningless conversation instead, and Draco noticed that Harry didn't reach across the table to touch his hand as he so often had in the past. When they had finished, he asked, "Do you want to meet next week as usual?" He waited, afraid, for Harry's answer.

"Yes." Harry gave him a crooked smile. "Whatever else, you still are my closest friend, these days."

The knot in Draco's stomach relaxed. "Good," he said, "because I feel the same way."

Nevertheless, going to meet Harry the following week was more awkward than it had been a long time. Harry had owled on Thursday that he had tickets for the theater for them, some musical that Draco was only mildly interested in seeing, and he wondered if this might be Harry's way to avoid talking. They had gone to shows together several times before, but the timing seemed too coincidental for Draco not to be a little suspicious.

There was only time for a quick sandwich before the performance started; although Draco enjoyed it more than he had expected, he waited impatiently for the end.

"I don't want to pressure you," he began, and saw Harry's face tighten in the yellow light of the streetlamps. "No, really," he insisted. "I'm not going to ask if you've come to any decision about what you might want to do, or anything like that. I just want to say that I don't want to us to behave differently because we've admitted that our feelings are little more complicated than maybe either of us necessarily wanted. We can still talk about anything; you can still hug me if you'd like. I think I'm able to cope with that without reading more into it than you intend, and I hope you can do the same."

Harry nodded. "I thought it might be easier if we didn't worry about talking as much for a bit, but maybe you're right. I do have things that I want... I need to tell you. Look, I know it's late, but do you want to have coffee and dessert or something before we go home?"

"If you want to talk, yes," Draco agreed.

Ensconced over slices of cake and coffee -- decaffeinated for both of them -- Harry lifted his coffee cup in a silent toast.

Gravely, Draco returned the gesture, took a sip, and then said, "Did you have something to say about _us_, or was it something else you needed to talk about?"

"Us. I have... I've thought about it good deal, actually. Not just since last week; it's something I've considered more and more for months now." Harry pressed the tines of his fork into the crumbs of his chocolate sponge, and licked them off. It was a childlike action, and Draco couldn't decide if he found it endearing or irritating. "There's a lot, a _lot_, that I value in my marriage. But..."

When the silence had continued long enough that Draco wondered if Harry were going to say anything else at all, he prompted, "But?"

"But as I was saying last week, I don't talk with Ginny any more the way I talk with you. I'm not sure that I ever did, really. We were friends before we ever started going out, but we were so young then. Friendship with someone when you're fifteen or sixteen isn't really the same. And then once we started seeing each other seriously after the war, I think neither of us wanted to take positions that might upset the other person. Not that we never had quarrels, because we did, of course, but things like whether the Ministry was right in the kind of sanctions imposed on people like your parents; if Ginny made it clear that she felt strongly one way, then even if I disagreed I would usually let it slide. It didn't seem important, because it wasn't anything to do with us.

"Now I think that was a mistake, because over time we got out of the habit of talking about those things at all, and they _are_ important; what you believe says something about who you are, what kind of person."

"Yes, I know," said Draco softly. He took a sip of coffee and grimaced; he'd picked up Harry's cup by accident and Harry used far too much sugar for Draco's taste. He quickly set it back down, drinking from his own cup to cut the lingering sweetness.

"So that's what makes the difference, for me. That she and I don't really seem to know each other very well any more, if we ever did. And I don't know how we can change that now. I don't know that either of us _wants_ to change any more; it's too old a habit between us." Harry was still fidgeting with his fork. "So there's that. And there's also the fact that when I touch you it's as if I come alive. It isn't just," he paused, glancing around, and then lowered his voice, "a sexual attraction. I mean, that's there, definitely, but it's more. It's as if being around you makes me more _myself_, more the person that I want to be. Does that make any sense at all?"

In reply, Draco reached for Harry's hand across the table, square and solid in his own, and nodded. "You make me feel more myself, too."

With a relieved smile, Harry said, "That's exactly the sort of thing that I don't think I could say to Ginny. We're comfortable with each other, but there isn't, there never has been, that sort of intensity. I don't know if it's necessary. I guess it isn't, because I think on the whole we've had a good marriage, but now that I know I can feel like this about someone, about _you_, I can't help but want it all the time."

"Is this your roundabout way of leading up to saying that you're going to leave Ginny?"

"Yes." Harry took a deep breath. "I haven't talked to her about this at all. I have no idea if she has ever guessed, or if she has the same feeling of detachment that I have. And I don't want to hurt her more than I can help; she doesn't deserve that. But dragging things out won't make it easier for anyone. I'm going to talk with her this weekend." His expression was strained, but his voice was resolute.

Draco wondered if Ginny would accept what Harry told her, or if she would resist. There was nothing he could do about it either way, of course, only hope for the best, hope that Harry knew what he was doing.

"Are you going to tell her about me?" Draco had always assumed that Ginny knew Harry had dinner with Draco on the nights she went out with her female friends, but he knew Harry would understand what he meant: would Harry tell Ginny of his attraction to Draco?

"I'm not sure. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have recognized my feelings for a long time, maybe not ever, but I don't want her to hold you to blame, because you're not. I'm trying to be fair to her, and I don't want her to be unfair to you."

Giving him a faint smile, Draco said, "Well, if she throws you out of the house, you can come and stay with me. I have a guest bedroom, and I promise that I won't molest you unless you ask for it."

"I may take you up on that," Harry said.


	5. Visitor

**Visitor**

Now that he lived alone, Draco found himself at loose ends on weekends. His job at the Ministry didn't require him to bring work home; one of the Malfoy house-elves did his cleaning and some of his cooking as well, so unless Draco had plans with a friend, he generally spent his days off puttering around his flat, reading the papers that had piled up over the week, or knocking around either wizarding or Muggle London. Once in awhile he visited Scorpius and Rosie, but he didn't like to do that too often. Not that he didn't want to see his son, but he didn't want Scorpius to feel that he was intruding, so he preferred to go only every six weeks or so.

Occasionally, too, he would have lunch with his wife, although after more than two years of separation, Daphne had other engagements most of the time. The arrangement suited them both. Divorce was out of the question for a Malfoy and Draco did not want to have the arguments with his parents that he knew would follow if he made a step in that direction. It wasn't as if he wanted to marry someone else, after all, so best to leave well enough alone.

Today he had spent largely in browsing through Muggle antique shops. Since he and Harry had become friends, Draco had become more comfortable in the Muggle world, perhaps because Harry seemed to take it for granted. He had considered buying a nineteenth-century grandfather clock, but upon reflection decided that its design wouldn't suit his living room.

Having eaten a light supper, he was seated on the sofa, idly flipping through _Which Broomstick_ and wondering if he should get Scorpius a new broom for his birthday. Most of his thoughts, however, were not on brooms at all, but on Harry, who had said that he was going to talk with Ginny about a separation this weekend. He hoped that it would go all right. Offering Harry the use of his spare bedroom if necessary was really the only thing Draco could do to help him.

The old mantel clock above the fireplace chimed the hours: eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock. Once upon a time that would have been early for Draco, especially on a Saturday, but at ten-thirty he yawned, put down his magazine, and rose to carry his wineglass to the kitchen. He was just setting it on the counter when a thump in the Floo nearly made him drop the glass.

"Draco?" Harry's voice called out.

Hurrying back into the living room, Draco saw Harry stepping out of the fireplace, brushing himself off. "Are you all right?"

Harry's face was pale and he blinked furiously. "Not really. I'm going to take you up on that offer of your spare bedroom, if I may?"

"Of course." Draco noted that Harry had nothing with him. "I can lend you some pajamas and a comb and toothbrush, too, if you need them."

"Thanks. I'll go home tomorrow, I just felt that it would be better not to be there tonight." Harry sighed.

"Let me show you where the spare room is, and then if you want to talk about it, we can." Draco realized that in all the time they had been friends, Harry had never visited his flat before. For that matter, he hadn't been in Harry's house, either. "I'll give you the five-Knut tour, shall I?"

Harry managed a rather shaky smile and nodded, following Draco.

"We're in the living room, obviously. Through here is the kitchen; glasses are in the cupboard left of the sink, and feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge that you'd like." Draco waved his hand in that direction.

"Down this hallway are the bedrooms. This one is mine." Draco liked what he'd chosen for his room; all the wood was a dark rich cherry, and the rest was mostly white with touches of dark green that reminded him of his Slytherin schooldays. "The guest bath is next door, here," the bath was done up entirely in white, "and at the end of the hall is the room you'll have."

Its door stood open; Draco had had his house-elf give it an extra cleaning and put fresh sheets on the bed, just in case Harry needed it. "It's not much," he apologized, "but I don't have guests all that often. Usually I go to visit Scorpius and Rose, rather than the other way around."

"It's lovely. This will be fine." Harry had taken only a couple of steps into the room; with nothing to set down to establish his presence as a guest, he seemed detached from his surroundings, uncertain what to do

"Why don't I fetch those pajamas and so on now, so that I don't forget later. Just a minute." Draco looked in the medicine cabinet of the guest bathroom, and as he had thought, there was an unused toothbrush there still in its wrapper. He laid the toothbrush and a comb on the shelf above the sink and went into his own room. All of his pajamas would be a little large on Harry -- Draco had at least four inches on him in height, though not breadth -- but they would do for tonight. He pulled out a pair in blue silk and hurried back. "Here you go," he said briskly.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking the pajamas and moving at last to set them down on the pillow.

"Would you like a drink?" Draco offered, observing the dazed way Harry walked. Perhaps it was only to be expected, but it concerned him. One drink would do no harm and might break through that numbness.

Harry nodded and they went back to the living room.

A good red wine, Draco decided. He knew that Harry preferred reds unless he was eating a dish that would be overwhelmed by one. He poured them each a glass, and settled beside Harry on the small sofa.

"Do you _want_ to tell me about it?" he said quietly.

Harry stared into his glass of wine. Twice he raised it to his lips, then lowered it again without drinking. Draco waited. When he and Daphne had agreed to separate, it hadn't been a particularly emotional decision; they had half-agreed to it even before they were married, after all. But Harry's situation was different. He should be allowed to talk about it in his own time.

"I didn't tell her about you," Harry said at last. "About being unable to settle the life debts we owe each other because... you know. Because we feel too much toward each other and haven't been able to resolve those emotions through ordinary friendship. She'll find out eventually of course, but it seemed better not to complicate things right now."

"All right," said Draco. "Do you want to tell me how the rest of the conversation went, then?"

"She wasn't happy." Harry gave a choked laugh. "The funny thing is that I think she does actually feel the same as I do; that we don't really communicate about important matters, things that are more than how the children are doing, or what we need to do to the house this weekend. But she doesn't seem to _expect_ that, and it doesn't seem to bother her. I don't know if she doesn't need to have that kind of sharing, or if she talks with her women friends and doesn't think it's a problem that she's not talking with me."

He fell silent then, taking a long gulp from his wineglass and then staring at it again as he held it between his knees. From the opposite end of the sofa Draco studied Harry's face. The creases around his eyes and mouth, which usually gave the impression that he smiled often and would do so again at any moment, seemed tonight to be dragging the skin down in weary folds. He looked defeated, a look that Draco couldn't remember ever seeing on him before. And yet he couldn't be; if he'd tried to tell Ginny that it was over and she had somehow argued him out of his decision, he wouldn't be here sitting on Draco's sofa. Draco was sure that touching Harry now would be a bad idea, so he simply said, "Go on."

With a sigh, Harry did. "I had to explain that over the last few years my life had started to feel pointless, empty, as if I were simply going through the motions most of the time. She took it personally. Which maybe shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was. No matter how often I said that I didn't blame her at all, that this was simply the way things were for me, she wanted to insist that she must have done something, or failed to do something, to make me feel that way, and that I should have told her years before if I was unhappy. But I _wasn't_ unhappy, that's the trouble. I was mostly content. And I could have gone on like that forever..."

"I know," murmured Draco.

"She asked if there was another woman. When I said no, she seemed relieved. I don't think it occured to her that I might have feelings about another man instead." Harry gave a snort. "Despite her brother Charlie."

"I suppose she felt that thirty years with her established your straight credentials pretty well," said Draco.

"Something like that," Harry agreed. "I will say this for her, she never did start yelling, and I thought she might. But she cried." He shook his head, looking down. "That very nearly made me reconsider... I absolutely hated that I was hurting her so much. And I wanted to comfort her, but the only comfort I could have given would have only made it worse. I finally asked if I should call Hermione, if she wanted someone else to be there with her, and she said no, all she wanted was to be alone for a while and think, and that if I would leave she'd appreciate it."

"You left her all alone?"

"No, I Floo-called Hermione anyway, so that someone else would be looking in on her tonight and maybe tomorrow morning too. Ginny's not the type to do something stupid and impulsive, but you never know."

Draco was glad to hear that. He'd never had any particular fondness for any of the Weasley clan, although he got along well enough with his son's wife, but if Ginny did do anything foolish in the aftermath of what Harry had told her, Draco knew Harry would never forgive himself. "For what it's worth, it sounds to me as if you handled it all as well as anyone could have."

"Thanks." Harry had finished his wine and was running his thumb along the lip of the glass.

"Would you like some more?" offered Draco.

"I'd _like_ to get really pissed, actually, but it's probably not a good idea."

Draco shrugged. "I have plenty of firewhisky in the drinks cabinet. Tomorrow's Sunday; you'd have time to recover."

"What the hell. As long as I don't make a habit of it; and I can't imagine that I'll tell my wife I'm leaving her more than once, so I think I'm safe."

Draco brought the whisky and fresh glasses, and they sat, drinking silently, until Harry let out a sob, his glass falling from limp fingers onto the floor and shattering, liquor spilling everywhere. Draco had drunk considerably less than Harry; a quick _Reparo_ took care of the broken glass and _Tergeo_ siphoned up the whisky. He helped Harry down the hallway to the spare room where he pulled off Harry's shoes and persuaded him to lie down. Before going to sleep himself, Draco found a bottle of hangover potion and left it on the table beside Harry's bed.

It wasn't until nearly noon on Sunday that Harry reemerged. From the kitchen, where he was putting together a frittata for their lunch, Draco heard the bathroom door close, and then the sound of running water.

"Thank you for the hangover potion," said Harry when he came into the kitchen, his hair damp, dressed now in the clean pajamas Draco had left for him rather than in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. He held out his arm with a sheepish grin. "Since I didn't sleep in these, I figured I might wear them until I go home later this afternoon."

"Whatever you like," said Draco. "I didn't have any plans for today myself, so feel free to stay as long as you want to."

"I can't do that," said Harry, "but depending on how Ginny feels, mostly, would it be possible for me to stay for a week or so? Obviously I'd pick up clothes and things, you wouldn't have to provide me with the basic necessities. Last night I didn't really expect to need to come."

"You can stay as long as you like, Harry. I just said so. It's not a very big flat for two people, that's all."

"I think a week would be enough time for me to make some arrangements. I might move into the rooms over the shop; I've been using them for storage, but Mister Ollivander lived there and I certainly could. Assuming that Ginny wants to stay in the house."

"You've been living in the old Black place, haven't you?" asked Draco. "I would think you would want to keep that."

"I would," said Harry, "but since I'm the one who's leaving her, it seems only fair that she should have the first choice. There are a lot of our family memories there now that maybe she wouldn't want to give up." He shrugged. "Maybe she'll decide that the memories of me there are more than she wants. I don't know, but I'll ask."

They ate together companionably, Harry complimenting Draco on the spinach frittata. "I thought you didn't like to cook."

"When there's someone else around to eat with, I don't mind. I'm glad you like it."

Harry seemed apprehensive but resolute about going back to his home to retrieve what he'd need for a few days, and in the event returned to Draco's flat without having seen Ginny at all. Hermione had apparently persuaded her to go to the Granger-Weasley house for a while, leaving a note for Harry so that he wouldn't worry.

Within the week Harry had cleared out the flat above the wand shop and moved himself in. Draco helped, as much as Harry would allow, since most of Harry's other friends were also close to Ginny and weren't ready to act in a way that might seem like taking his side.

"It's official," Harry told Draco the following Tuesday night, when Draco stopped by as always after work.

"What's official? You're completely moved in?"

"No, my separation." His voice held a note of sadness still. "I finally convinced Ginny that there was no chance. I'm not sure that Ron believes it yet, though, and that's nearly as hard."

"I'm sorry." Draco was genuinely sorry for Harry's grief. He was glad that Harry had made the decision without any interference from himself, though, and glad of what that decision had been.

Harry shrugged. "It had to be. Shall we walk, tonight? Let me lock up and I'll be right with you."

"Kensington Park, yes," agreed Draco.

"Then... I'd like to get takeaway and eat together here, if that's all right with you. I want you to be my first guest." Harry looked at him steadily.

Swallowing, Draco agreed.


	6. Beginning

**Beginning**

That the flat above Ollivander's Wands had been used for storage for some years was not immediately evident; Harry had not only cleared out all of the boxes and bundles that had crammed the rooms, he had somehow managed to repaint the entire place in a week. The furniture, however, was an eclectic, not to say eccentric, hodgepodge that looked as if it had been mostly cadged from friends' cast-offs, perhaps including some remnants from Mister Ollivander's time, with the few exceptions being of cheap Muggle origin.

"It's lovely," Draco lied. Actually the flat did have possibilities, but whether it was worth Harry's while to improve the place much would depend on how long he intended to live there -- and of that Draco had no idea.

"It's all right." Harry shrugged, setting the bags of Chinese takeaway down on a rather rickety-looking table. "Not nearly as nice as yours, but it'll do for the moment. Do you want to see the rest?"

Draco nodded and stepped forward at Harry's gesture to follow him.

The kitchen was tiny. Harry had painted it yellow, presumably with an eye to cheerfulness, but it was still quite claustrophobia-inducing. Along the hallway the bath appeared to have been last renovated somewhere around the time that Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald.

Seeing Draco's raised eyebrows, Harry said with embarrassed haste, "It's ancient, I know, but there's plenty of hot water, and the loo hasn't given me any trouble."

There was only the one bedroom. Harry had a double bed, Draco noticed. It was covered with a bright turquoise duvet which didn't look at all like Harry's taste; neither did the pillow slips, gaudy with stars in a rainbow of colors.

"I haven't had time to go out and buy much yet; this is what we had in the spare bedroom. Lily chose the linens and the duvet cover when she was about twelve." Harry smiled. "Thank goodness I think her taste has improved since then."

"They could have been far worse," Draco pointed out. "At the age of twelve, I would have expected her to go for some dreadful shade of pink."

Harry smiled and seemed to relax. "You're quite right. I hadn't thought of that. I suppose I've gotten off lucky, really."

They returned to the living room, where the cartons of food were giving off a most appetizing set of aromas. For a little while they said nothing except, "Pass the rice?" or, "The last eggroll is yours if you want it."

Harry put the leftover food into the fridge when they had finished, and called out to Draco, who had remained in the living room, "Anything to drink? I don't have much, but there's some lager, or I can open a bottle of wine."

"Whatever you want, Harry," said Draco, rising and walking over to the small bookshelf next to the pair of mismatched chairs. He bent down and was reading the titles when Harry came back.

"It's a warm night, I thought lager..." Harry broke off. "Oh."

Draco had pulled one of the volumes from the shelf and was leafing through it. "This one looks new. I'm a little surprised to see it stuck in there when all of the other books are on wand lore."

The blood had rushed up in Harry's cheeks, but he stood his ground, holding out Draco's glass, and said with only a slight quiver in his voice, "It's not a topic that I'd had any real need to know about, before. I bought that in a Muggle bookshop a few weeks ago and kept it in the back room at the shop while I was thinking about... everything."

"You've never?"

"Not with another man, no." Harry's voice was quiet. "Not really. A mutual hand job or two, back at school, but it wasn't something that interested me all that much; it was less fuss to wank and think of Ginny, you know? There was no one, then, who made me feel like you do now."

Still holding the book, Draco reached out with his other hand and took his glass, taking a deep gulp without letting his eyes turn away from Harry's. "Shall we sit down?"

Harry sat across from Draco and raised his glass to his lips. Draco watched him swallow once, twice, then lower the drink and look back with a wide green gaze.

"So I take it that you've been reading through this, then." Draco turned a couple of pages. "Was it helpful?"

"I suppose." Harry paused. "There were certainly things that I would never have thought of, illustrated there. Things I'm not sure I'd necessarily want to try." There was a curious expression on his face as he faced Draco. "Do... do many queer wizards do these sorts of things, or are Muggles different? I mean, I know that in general wizards and Muggles are pretty much alike, but social customs vary rather a lot, and I don't know if this might be one of them."

"I... probably haven't had as much experience as you might think," Draco told him. "Even though Daphne always knew what I am, and accepted it, that doesn't mean I was out shagging every fanciable wizard I might see. And certainly not Muggles." He had done that once or twice, actually, but he hadn't been comfortable with it.

"So I don't know; there are probably things I've never done or heard of in there, too, but I'm pretty familiar with the basics." Draco set the book down. "Look, if you're asking in a roundabout way if I'll sleep with you, you must know the answer is yes. And I'll do my best to show you whatever you want to know about having sex with another wizard, but there's certainly nothing in particular that one _has_ to do. Besides." Draco allowed himself to lean forward and touch Harry's knee, "you only just left your wife. I don't want you to do anything you're not ready to do, just because you think _I_ might want it. Ever since you first contacted me about settling our life debt, and we kissed, I've wanted you, yes: Merlin, I've had passing fantasies about you since I can remember, for that matter. But I want you to be sure that this is what _you_ want."

Having spent the better part of his life in a marriage that, while friendly, was nothing more than that, with occasional furtive and sometimes anonymous encounters to relieve his sexual desires, Draco was prepared to wait for as much longer as might be necessary. If -- beyond the whole question of the unresolved emotions affecting their mutual life debt -- Harry was just realizing for the first time that he might fancy men in general, as well as women, and Draco happened to be convenient... well, that wasn't enough. Perhaps it would have been once, but now Draco would rather simply remain friends.

"I understand." Harry's expression was solemn. "I'm not going to want to rush things, either, but maybe we could start with a kiss and see what happens?"

"Too bad you don't have a sofa. It's going to be either awkward sitting in these chairs or -- I have to admit it -- I'm going to be a little stiff if we go down on the floor." Draco allowed himself a hint of a grin so that Harry would know his objections were not too serious.

Harry returned the smile. "There's always the bed," he pointed out. "If that's not rushing things too much."

"It's your choice. If you're comfortable with that, then so am I." When they stood up, however, Draco put his arms around Harry and kissed him first right there. The same shiver went through him as he had felt the previous time they had kissed, nearly two years ago.

Kissing Harry was like coming home in a way that Draco couldn't remember ever having felt in his life, and it was better even than the other time, because now he _knew_ Harry. The tie between them wasn't just the residual magic of a mutual life debt, nor the sort of inexplicable physical attraction that one might feel even for a stranger, but rather it reflected a connection that he knew was deeply emotional -- at least for himself, and he hoped for Harry too. However it had begun, two years of friendship had made this an entanglement that Draco could no longer imagine wanting to unknot.

With a sigh Harry relaxed into Draco's embrace, his hands on Draco's back and pulling him close. The way he moved his lips and tongue was gentle, almost tentative; Draco supposed that was because Harry was used to kissing Ginny, whom he imagined might prefer restraint. In response, Draco increased the force of his own kiss, wordlessly encouraging Harry to reciprocate. Harry's mouth tasted of lager and Chinese spices and behind that the sweetness that was Harry himself, letting Draco take the lead but following him willingly.

Still wrapped in the pleasure of the ongoing kiss, Draco brought one hand up, sliding his fingers into Harry's hair, feeling the coarser texture of the white strands scattered through the darker locks. He took hold of the earpiece of Harry's glasses and lifted them, tugging a little awkwardly as they caught on Harry's other ear but finally able to pull them away and drop them with a clatter on the table.

One of Harry's hands crept up to cup Draco's cheek as Harry drew away long enough to say, "God... this is... why did I wait so long to realize?" His mouth found Draco's again, sucking hungrily at his tongue as if drawing sustenance from it.

By unspoken accord they moved slowly together across the living room, still kissing, nearly bumping into the wall of the hallway as they headed for Harry's bedroom, Harry's bed. Draco ran his hands up and down Harry's back as they stretched out, and kicked his shoes off, letting them fall to the floor. He heard the thump as Harry did likewise.

He pushed Harry over onto his back, and then raised himself up to look into Harry's eyes, dilated with desire. "What do you want?"

Harry's throat moved as he swallowed. "I just want to be with you like this for now, if that's all right?"

Draco nodded, saying, "We needn't undress, but could I touch you through your clothes?" He rested a hand on Harry's hip, his thumb sweeping inward so that Harry would know what he meant.

"Okay," said Harry in the barest whisper. Draco moved his fingers and found the soft bulge of Harry's cock under the loose fabric of his trousers. It was already growing, stiffening, even as he brushed over it, and Harry gave a little moan that made Draco glad of his age, because if he'd been twenty-five years younger he would have come untouched in his own trousers at the sound of that pure need. He ignored his own desire, however, focusing all his attention on Harry, determined to bring Harry the most pleasure he could.

He left his hand resting on Harry's cock, scarcely moving, and leaned to kiss Harry yet again, this time exploring the whole of his face, from earlobe to chin, from forehead to neck. He felt the rasp of stubble under his lips as he brushed them along the line of Harry's jaw and then swept up to plant tender kisses on each eyelid before finally returning to sample the sweetness of his mouth once more. Harry reciprocated, exploring Draco's mouth and then shifting to nibble at the skin of his neck, sucking at the hollow of Draco's throat. His hips rocked against Draco's hand.

"Is that good, Harry? Do you like that?" Draco murmured, pressing a little harder.

"Yes." Harry opened his eyes. "God, yes." Draco nodded and continued to pet over Harry's prick, gradually increasing the firmness of his strokes. He watched the flush rise in Harry's cheeks.

"Let yourself feel," he said softly, and Harry shuddered, his body going limp in the aftermath of orgasm. Draco felt the dampness seeping through Harry's trousers. He twisted his hips, reaching for his own cock, and a few strokes brought him over the edge as well.

Harry was watching, a slightly disappointed look on his face. "I would have done that if you'd asked," he said.

"There will be plenty of time. I didn't want to push you yet." Draco put his arm over Harry's waist. "But I'm sorry that I didn't ask, if you wanted to. I'm not used to being with someone else any more."

Harry nodded. "It's all right. I understand. I hope, though, that you'll want to stay, for little while at least?"

"Very much. I could stay all night if you like; I'd just have to go home early in the morning, to shower and change and so forth before I have to go to work."

"I'd like it if you stayed," whispered Harry, holding Draco tight. "I'd like that a great deal."

"Then I will, tonight."


	7. Change

**Change**

Nothing much changed right away after Harry moved into the flat above the shop, at least not as far as Draco was concerned. He had spent that one night sleeping in Harry's bed, but Harry retreated from that closeness the next week, watching Draco with troubled eyes.

Harry shook his head when Draco asked if something was wrong, saying, "I don't regret what we did, but I need time." He reached across the tiny table of the Italian restaurant where they were having dinner that week and rested his fingertips for a moment on Draco's chest. "I need to think."

Draco twined his own fingers through Harry's, lowering their joined hands to the tabletop. It almost seemed as if he could still feel Harry's touch above his heart. "Tell me if there's anything I can help you with."

"I will. I think... in a couple of weeks I think I'll want to talk. But not quite yet."

And that was where the matter rested for the next month. They resumed their usual Tuesday dinners, one week also going to see a film; it was an American Muggle thriller, and Draco suspected morosely that Harry had chosen it so that they would have less of an opportunity to talk. He reminded himself that Harry was trying to cope with Ginny being not terribly cooperative about coming to any decisions. Then, too, it was the season when Harry needed to work hard on wand-making so that he would have plenty of stock on hand when the new year's crop of young witches and wizards came to buy their first wands.

When it had been six weeks since Harry left Ginny, though, Draco decided that he had been patient long enough, and that it wasn't unreasonable to prod Harry a little bit. He sent a message that he would make their dinner reservations the next Tuesday, and instructed his house-elf to have toad-in-the-hole and green peas ready at seven-thirty.

Harry was amenable to taking their favorite walk in Kensington Park, and Draco carefully only spoke of indifferent matters: the unseasonably cool weather, the latest gossip out of the Ministry. At twenty past seven he said, "We're having dinner at my flat tonight. It's already arranged, so don't argue, please."

"I wouldn't think of it." Harry put his arm through Draco's. "Do you want to Apparate us there, or shall I?"

"I will." As soon as they had reached a spot from which they would not be observed, he did, landing them neatly inside his living room.

"Smells delicious," said Harry. "Sausages?"

"Toad-in-the-hole," Draco admitted. "I know you used to like it at school; I hoped you still do."

Harry smiled at him a little sadly. "Yes. Molly Weasley has always made a good one."

"That's why I wanted you to come here tonight," said Draco as they sat down.

"What, to talk about toad-in-the-hole?"

Draco repressed an urge to roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation. "No, to remind you of the fact that there are still pleasures in life, and that they're better shared. We haven't talked all that much recently. I thought that part of the reason you decided to leave Ginny was because you felt the two of you didn't communicate meaningfully any more, so it's been worrying me that you've not been talking to me, either."

"I know." Harry looked down, cutting off a bite of the batter pudding and putting it into his mouth. When he had swallowed, he said, "I'm sorry, Draco. I haven't wanted to drag you into my problems."

"Harry..." Draco shook his head. "Friends _share_ their problems. I may not be able to do much of anything to _solve_ them, but I can listen, if you want to take some of the weight off your mind. Is it Ginny who's troubling you?"

"It's everyone. Ginny, and the kids, and most of my friends as well." Harry's mouth twisted. "Almost all of my friends have always been Ginny's friends too, and half of them are her relatives on top of that. Because I'm the one who left – according to her without even trying to work things out, and I suppose there _is_ some truth to that but it's not as sudden and arbitrary as she's been making it out to be – most of them are more or less on her side. Hermione's tried to mediate a little, but Ron simply won't talk to either of us, and that hurts, a lot."

"Have you still not told anyone that I'm part of the reason you left?"

"No. I can't think of any way to say it that won't make them think things that are untrue. We'd kissed once – once! – two years ago, to see if that would let us settle our life debt, and then we tried seeing if becoming friends would resolve the emotion, so that we could each get on with our lives without any lingering obligation. It wasn't your fault that it didn't work. And you _never_ encouraged me to leave Ginny. But I'm afraid that she, that everyone, would blame you anyway, and that wouldn't be right."

"I understand." Draco was touched by Harry's concern. "But I can bear it, I think, if Ginny and Ron despise me." He shrugged. "I'm not sure either of them ever stopped, not since we were all at school, and it doesn't really bother me. Now Hermione's a different matter; she _is_ my superior in the department, after all, but she's always been very professional in the way she's treated me – she's never once brought up anything that happened at Hogwarts. So if it would make it easier for you, if you think it would help Ginny accept the situation for instance, then you can..."

"I can what?" Harry shook his head.

Draco couldn't say, _You can tell her that we love each other_. He knew how he felt, but he couldn't presume to speak for Harry. "You can tell her about the life debt," he said at last. "Explain about the problem with unresolved emotion, so that the Relinquishment Spell wouldn't work."

"She _might_ listen to that," said Harry doubtfully. "The other problem is that I'm worried about what my children will think, when they learn about why I left. That I'm," Harry stopped and swallowed, "gay."

"You brought them up not to make foolish distinctions between Muggle-borns and purebloods, right?" asked Draco rhetorically. "I can't imagine that you promoted bigotry in other areas."

"No, of course not, but things are a little different when it's your own father."

Draco laid down his knife and fork, setting them neatly on the empty plate. "Harry, you know your children far better than I do, certainly, but think about it. If you're really certain that after all it's men you're attracted to, that this isn't some temporary episode because you've been feeling unsatisfied by your relationship with Ginny, then – in my opinion – you should tell them sooner rather than later. If you're _not_ certain, then that's another matter."

Taking his glasses off, Harry scrubbed a hand across his eyes, then resettled the glasses on his nose. "I don't know that I'm attracted to _men_ in a general sort of way. I'm attracted to _you_. I haven't felt like this since, well, I'm not sure that I felt this way even when Ginny and I first became involved; that's so long ago now, it's hard to remember."

Draco's breath caught in his throat, and he found himself having to clear it rather forcefully. "Oh. I see."

"The children know we're separated, of course, but not why. I can't figure out how to tell them, any more than Ginny. How did you tell Scorpius?" Harry asked. "It might be easier if I had some sort of example."

"We brought Scorpius up as a Malfoy," Draco said. "That is, he was always aware that his grandparents – both sets – felt that blood purity and the continuation of the family line were of the greatest importance. So he understood why his mother and I might have felt obliged to be married, regardless of our personal preferences. Daphne and I were always friends, and Scorpius saw that, but we also led fairly separate lives. When I told him that we were going to live apart in the future, and that the reason for that was that I preferred intimacy with men, I don't think it came as a complete shock. It didn't really change either my relationship with Daphne, or Scorpius's relationship with either of us. Besides," Draco flashed a smile that had a good deal of smirk in it, "I chose my time to tell him carefully – just after he and Rose Weasley had become engaged."

"How very Slytherin of you," said Harry. "I suppose I could be lucky that way with one of my children, find a moment when some other major event in their lives would be a distraction, but certainly not with all three."

"You could, however, point out that they're hardly the first to whom something like this has happened," Draco said. "Scorpius is their cousin's husband, and of course they were all at school together. If they need to talk with someone who's gone through the same experience, they could always ask him how he dealt with it."

"True." Harry turned from side to side, stretching his back. "Excuse me. I'm a bit stiff today; spent a long time doing some rather fussy work preparing wand cores."

They left the dining table and went to sit together on the sofa in the living room, bringing their refilled wineglasses along.

"I should apologize to you," said Harry, taking a sip.

"What for?"

"For not talking much, these last few weeks. You're right, that _is_ what friends are for, and if I'd let myself share my concerns I'd perhaps have felt less worried about everything sooner. You've been very patient and I appreciate that a good deal."

Draco put a hand on Harry's knee. "It's all right. I'm glad you were willing to finally talk tonight, though."

"Um. I'm not sure I'm ready for more than when you stayed in my flat, but if you're okay with that, I could stay the night here?" Harry's voice cracked on the last words as he put his hand over Draco's.

"If that's what you feel able to do, all right."

"I know that you don't find it a problem to have sex with someone else even though you're still married to Daphne, but she knew all along how matters stood. Until things are more settled with Ginny, I don't feel comfortable with that." Harry's face had gone pink around the ears, making him look almost like a teenager again despite the grey in his hair.

"I wondered if it might be something like that," Draco said. Harry's words, along with what he had said earlier about being attracted not to men in general, but specifically to Draco, gave Draco hope that perhaps he would not have to wait too long before Harry was willing to indulge in more than a few kisses and fumblings. "Come here, give me your wine glass." He set the two glasses down and pulled Harry into an embrace. Harry returned it, pressing his lips against Draco's cheek and trailing a line of kisses along his jaw, up to his ear.

"You're too good to me," he whispered. "Are you _really_ the same Draco Malfoy that I knew in school?"

Draco tightened his hold. "We've both lived through a lot of changes since then."

Harry gave a rueful chuckle. "That's certainly true. Even a year ago I'd never have imagined that I'd be here like this now."

"But not everything in your life is altering at once. You still have your shop, you're making those wonderful wands. And you still have your children, even if your marriage to their mother is ending."

"I know." Harry's voice was low. "And I still have my closest friend, too." He turned his head so that their lips met briefly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me," he murmured against Draco's skin.

"To me, too," Draco admitted. Part of him wanted to beg Harry to let Draco make love to him, but Harry had already made plain that he didn't feel ready for that yet, so Draco forced himself to be content with the fact that Harry was here next to him, kissing him with gentle fervor.

"You're going to smear your glasses," he said, lifting them away from Harry's face.

Harry chuckled. "Far worse things have happened to my specs than that, over the years. Each one of my children threatened their existence in one way or another. Albus was the worst; he liked to pull them off and drop them on the floor."

"Scorpius was quite fond of hair-pulling as a baby," Draco said.

"Lily did that, too. Drove Ginny wild. Do you ever regret getting married?"

Draco shook his head. "No, not really. There have been rewards to it. It's futile to speculate about the what-ifs, anyway. I'm glad to have my son, but if I hadn't married Daphne, and we hadn't had Scorpius, perhaps I would have had a son or daughter with someone else, even if it wasn't in a marriage. Or I might have been equally happy to have remained childless. There's really no way to tell. Once we make certain choices, we simply live with the consequences and move on from what _is_." Draco felt himself flush at waxing philosophical that way, but Harry was nodding in agreement.

"I understand what you're saying. If Ginny and I had had only James, we wouldn't know or miss Albus and Lily. And the children we might have had, but didn't, we can't imagine."

"That's right," said Draco. "Some decisions can be altered later, but a few... simply cannot. And sometimes what was the best decision at a given moment doesn't remain so forever. It was reasonable for me to have married Daphne, for instance; my parents wanted it very much, and she was agreeable, and at that time there was no one else that I was in love with. So I wasn't unwilling. In the end I would say that things worked out fairly well. I satisfied my parents at not too great a cost; I have a son whom I love very much, and a wife who will always be a good friend; and now I can please myself while I'm still relatively young." He touched Harry's cheek.

"That's a good way to think about it," Harry agreed. He rested his head on Draco's shoulder, one hand around Draco's waist, the other falling to rest on Draco's thigh. His fingers brushed against the bulge at Draco's groin, and Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease." Harry's voice was contrite.

"I know." Draco exhaled, willing his erection to subside. He wasn't an adolescent any longer; it was ridiculous that he should respond so strongly to Harry's mere proximity.

"Soon, Draco. I promise you that."

Draco heard the passion behind Harry's words and believed him.


	8. Disclosure

**Disclosure**

The memo fluttered to a halt on Draco's desk on a Friday morning. He frowned at it. Probably something to do with tidying up the loose ends on the Pickerell case whose paperwork he had completed yesterday.

When he opened it, however, he read:

_Dear Draco,_

_If you have no previous plans, I would like to meet with you over lunch. Please come by my office at noon._

_Hermione Granger_

Draco's eyebrows went up. He flipped the parchment over and wrote:

_I will be there._

_D. M._

With a casual flick of his wand, he sent the note winging back to its sender, wondering. Hermione was a very effective Head of Magical Law Enforcement, but not one given to having lunches with her staff. Well, he would find out what she wanted when he saw her at noon.

Promptly on the hour he presented himself.

"We won't be eating in the canteen," she told him. "This isn't Ministry business."

"I see," said Draco slowly.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You've no objection to Muggle restaurants, have you?"

"No, not at all." Draco repressed a smile at the memory of the dozens of such places he'd visited with Harry.

"Good."

Hermione chose a restaurant that apparently served only vegetarian food; Draco shrugged mentally and ordered a cup of bean soup and half an avocado sandwich. Hermione had half an egg sandwich and a salad. It was not until their food had arrived that she brought up the reason for her invitation.

"I talked to Harry last night," she said, leaning forward slightly. "He told me that part of the reason he left Ginny was because he's attracted to someone else. A man. I'm not exactly blind and deaf, and I know you and he became friends some little time ago, so I assume that the man in question is you. Am I right?"

Draco sat frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth. After a moment he set it down carefully. Harry had said that he would start telling people about his orientation, but Draco had thought he meant to start with Ginny and perhaps their children.

"Yes," he said, lifting his chin and looking Hermione in the eye . "Did he tell you how it happened?"

"He said it was to do with an unresolved life debt, partly at least."

"That's right. He came to me about two years ago, wanting to work that out, but as I'm sure you know the Relinquishment Spell won't work if there are strong unresolved emotions between the two people. We tried to see if becoming friends would settle the situation."

"And did it?" Hermione had a curious expression on her face.

"Not exactly," Draco admitted. "We did become friends, but we haven't tried the Relinquishment Spell. I... well. My feelings for him are more than just friendship and so apparently are his for me. But I never pressured him to do anything about it. What I want most is for him to be happy."

"So do I." Hermione's voice was considering. "It's difficult, you understand, for me to know this and to think what I can do. I've been friends with both Harry and Ginny for so long."

"I don't know if Harry's told Ginny yet."

"I don't think so. I'm fairly certain I would have heard from her if he had." Hermione sighed. "She was terribly upset when he left her. I don't know if this is going to make things better or worse." She eyed Draco. "I do believe you, you know, that you didn't try to persuade Harry to leave Ginny. I've worked with you for more than twenty-five years now, and you wouldn't do that."

"Thank you," Draco said.

"But Ginny is likely to hold you to blame."

Draco nodded. "I know. I expect it," he said with resignation. "I'm hoping that in the long term she'll accept it more as not a problem with _her_, so much as that Harry's simply become more interested in men. She might take it less personally that way, be less angry with Harry."

"On the other hand, she may feel that Harry's been lying to her for all these years," said Hermione.

"She may, but there's nothing I can do about that. And as far as I'm aware it's completely untrue. From what Harry has told me, he genuinely never thought about preferring men until quite recently."

"I see." Hermione chewed her last bite of salad thoughtfully. "Well. For whatever it's worth, I hope that things work out with you and Harry."

"That means a lot to me," said Draco, finding rather unexpectedly that he meant it. Hermione had been one of Harry's best friends since, well, practically forever; to have her approbation would make Harry happy, and so Draco was pleased as well. "One thing, though."

"Yes?"

"Harry may figure that you'll have guessed it was me, but let him tell you officially, as it were, and let him tell Ginny and everyone else himself, too. Not that I think you'd give away his secrets on purpose, but for his own peace of mind I think it's important that he do it."

Hermione nodded. "I'll be careful. If Ginny comes to talk to me afterward, though, of course I'll say whatever's necessary to help her accept things."

Draco smiled. "I think we understand each other."

They returned to the office in all amiableness, chatting about the latest big case.

At the end of the day, Draco decided to go and see Harry. When he walked in the door of the shop, Harry called out from the back room, "I'll be with you in a moment."

"No hurry, it's only me," Draco called back.

"Come back here, then."

Draco went into the back room where Harry did most of his wand-making.

"I'm just finishing up my monthly inventory," Harry told him. "I'll be done in a few minutes."

Locating a stool underneath a pile of boxes, Draco moved them to the floor and sat down to wait while Harry counted and muttered and chewed on his lip.

As soon as it was clear that Harry had finished, Draco spoke. "I had lunch with Hermione Granger today."

"Oh?" Harry busied himself putting away the inventory register.

"I gather that you came out to her. She guessed that it was me you were referring to when you said there was someone you were interested in. Somehow I thought you were going to tell Ginny first." Draco kept his voice calm, neither scolding nor censuring.

"I was... but then I was nervous. I thought it might be easier to try telling Hermione first and see how that went, before I talked to Ginny or any of the children. Hermione seemed all right with it. Wasn't she, after all?" Harry sounded worried.

"As far as I could tell she was," Draco said, "but it _was_ a little disconcerting. If Hermione figured out who you meant, I imagine that Ginny will be able to do the same, and she might send me more than an interdepartmental memo about it." He shrugged. "As long as she's not so overwrought that she sends a Howler to me at work, I suppose I'll manage."

"She'd actually be more likely to come and yell at you in person," Harry said.

"She's probably been waiting for the last thirty years to have an excuse to hit me with the Bat-Bogey Hex again." Draco gave a wry smile. "Well, whatever it is, it can't be any worse than other things I've lived through." He paused for a moment, then added quietly, "And even if it were, you're worth it."

Harry's ears turned pink. "Thank you. Um. So are you." He came over and put his arms around Draco. "Want to go out for dinner? We can have regular date-type outings now if we like, we needn't wait till Tuesday."

"Wherever you like," Draco agreed.

As they lingered over an after-dinner drink, Draco asked, "Now that you've told Hermione, when do you think you might talk with Ginny?"

Harry sighed. "I suppose I'd better do that soon. Not that I don't trust Hermione to keep her mouth shut, but there's no reason to delay, is there?"

Draco shook his head. "None that I can see, but then, I do have certain base motivations for saying that." He reached across the table and took Harry's hand, running his thumb along the skin over Harry's knuckles.

"I know. You've been, well, you've been amazingly patient with me." The muscles in Harry's throat moved as he swallowed. "What are you doing tomorrow night? If I talk to Ginny tomorrow afternoon, perhaps in the late afternoon or evening after the shop is closed that is... could I come to see you afterward?"

It was suddenly hard for Draco to breathe. "Of course," he managed to say. "Of course you can, Harry."

"I'll owl her first thing in the morning, then." Harry squeezed Draco's hand. "It's silly of me to be so nervous about this, isn't it?"

"A little bit, perhaps, but it's understandable." Draco felt a bit nervous himself, although he wasn't sure whether it was just on Harry's behalf, over his conversation with Ginny, or if it was the thought that tomorrow he might at last be able to make love to Harry the way he had wanted to for so long.

"Expect me between seven and eight, I suppose," said Harry. "If Ginny can't meet me tomorrow, I'll send you a note and the two of us can do something else, all right?"

"That sounds fine," Draco agreed.

By four o'clock on Saturday afternoon, Draco was virtually climbing the walls with impatience. He had heard nothing from Harry, and so he presumed that Harry was indeed meeting with Ginny very soon; he hoped that Harry had the good sense to have that conversation at his former house. While a tête-à-tête might be awkward, such a discussion in public could easily be far worse. He wondered if Harry would have eaten anything. Surely even if he were meeting Ginny somewhere, he wouldn't be fool enough to plan to have dinner with her? Knowing Harry, maybe he would. Well, there were several cheeses in the fridge. If Harry was hungry they could have bread and cheese and olives, and some of the very good Turkish figs of which Draco was particularly fond. That would do.

He tried to wait calmly, since he didn't really know when Harry might arrive. Between seven and eight, Harry had said, but of course that would depend on how the conversation went.

By nine o'clock, Draco was concerned. He told himself that Harry was a full-grown and highly competent wizard; nothing that Ginny might do could actually _harm_ him. Nor did Draco really think that Harry was at all likely to change his mind and go back to his wife now, though he did feel a faint prickling of doubt over that possibility. He poured himself another glass of wine and sipped at it as he wandered around his flat, needlessly straightening pictures in their frames and flicking imaginary specks of test from the furniture.

At twenty-three minutes after nine, there was a loud _crack_ as Harry Apparated into the entryway. Draco hurried over to him.

"Are you all right?"

Harry nodded and put a hand on Draco's shoulder as if to steady himself. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Could I have some of that?"

"Of course." Draco wrapped his free arm around Harry and brought him over to the sofa. "Sit down; I'll be right back."

It only took a moment to bring a second glass of wine.

"I guess it didn't go so well?" he asked sympathetically as he handed it to Harry.

Harry finished it all in a few great gulps and put the glass down. "Draco..." His voice was shaking.

Setting down his own wine, Draco put his arms around Harry again. "It's all right," he murmured, the scent of Harry's hair sending signals to which his body inevitably reacted, but he ignored that response and merely held Harry close.

For a long time they sat like that, Harry taking deep liquid breaths that weren't quite sobs, Draco patting him on the back and murmuring useless inanities just to reassure Harry that he was still there.

When Harry stiffened a little and pulled away, Draco released his embrace but touched Harry's cheek, looking into his eyes. Harry gave him a slightly watery smile.

"Thanks." He closed the few inches between their faces and brushed his lips over Draco's, then kissed him again more deeply.

"I want to make love with you," he said in a low voice as the kiss ended.

"Now? Are you sure?"

"Very sure," said Harry, and though his eyes were reddened and puffy, his gaze was resolute. "I've been waiting for this for a long time. A _very_ long time. I know that you have, too, haven't you?"

"Oh yes," said Draco. "Yes." He kissed Harry again, his tongue probing, flickering against Harry's until they were both left gasping. Draco touched Harry's chest and undid the buttons of his shirt, slipping his fingers inside to brush over skin and coarse curly hair, feeling the silky coins of Harry's nipples.

"I think we should go into the bedroom, don't you?"

He undressed Harry slowly, draping each piece of clothing carefully over the chair. Harry stood passively, accepting it, until Draco reached the cotton pants through which Harry's erection was clearly outlined.

"Wait, I want to undress you, first."

He was clumsy but quick, almost ripping Draco's shirt in his haste and apologizing. He didn't stop until Draco was completely naked, and then made no objection when Draco tugged down Harry's underwear.

A sprinkle of gray was visible among the black hair on Harry's chest, but the thatch from which his ruddy cock sprang was entirely dark. Draco knelt down and rubbed his cheek against it, inhaling. The scent of Harry was intoxicating.  
Harry let out a puff of breath and clutched at Draco's hair.

"Now," said Draco, moving his head away a few inches and tilting it to look up at Harry's face, "is there something that you especially wanted us to do, or shall I do as seems best?"

Harry's expression was a little dazed, and he took a step backward to sit down on the edge of the bed. Draco got up – his knees protesting slightly – and sat next to him.

"You know I don't have any real experience with men," said Harry. "I'm not sure..." he trailed off.

"It's not quite the same as with women. If you're not comfortable with the idea of penetration, for instance, we certainly don't have to do that," said Draco quietly. "It's up to you."

"I'm... I'm not sure. It seems like it might be... dirty. Painful."

"If you're not careful then yes, it can hurt," Draco admitted. "But one of the great advantages to being a wizard is that there are excellent charms to make sure everything is clean and well-lubricated. So you needn't worry about _that_, at least."

He took his time, making sure to be slow and careful in his stimulation, until Harry was moaning softly.

"Harry?" Draco asked at last, pausing. "Harry, what do you want?"

Harry took a long shuddering breath. His eyes were so dilated that only a thin ring of green showed around the pupils. "I want you, Draco. Please."

"All right, Harry," Draco murmured, but he still tried to be careful. He'd wanted this, imagined it for so long, that it seemed impossible that it was happening for real. He stretched out a hand to find Harry's cock, stroking it back to full hardness as Harry made appreciative if rather incoherent sounds.

Not wanting to risk overdoing things lest Harry be sore and regretful afterward, Draco made no effort to hold back his own orgasm, and so he came quite soon, emptying himself in a rush of heat that left every nerve aflame. Another few strokes of his hand and Harry came too, with Draco's name on his lips.

Hearing that meant more to Draco than anything else he'd done in his life, he thought, as he cleaned them both with a murmured spell and fell asleep with Harry held close in the circle of his arms.

* * *

Note: There is a more explicit version of this chapter on my website.

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